


On a Continuous Curve without Tangents, Constructible from Elementary Geometry

by darkmagicalgirl



Series: Catacaustic [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, M/M, Pre-Slash, Quidditch, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 20:59:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,995
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8939101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkmagicalgirl/pseuds/darkmagicalgirl
Summary: Percy can't get used to the quiet of the dormitory over the holidays.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [renaissance](https://archiveofourown.org/users/renaissance/gifts).



> Happy Channukah!!! Thank you for always fanning the Percy/Oliver flames of my heart.

Percy can't get used to the quiet of the dormitory over the holidays. He'd thought it would be a good idea to stay over the break, since he can't imagine trying to do his homework with the twins hanging off of him. Besides, Bill and Charlie always stay for winter break and have never mentioned _anything_ about being homesick, so Percy can't go acting like a baby now and let down their example.

Usually, the dorms remind him enough of the Burrow that it doesn't bother him. The other first year boys are boisterous enough that the noise level feels like home, with Chris's cat providing the strange noises that came from the ghoul at home and Ahmed's squeaky laughter a fair enough imitation of Ron and Ginny's giggles. The sound of Oliver's smuggled radio almost makes up for the absence of the twins, and if there's no one to fill in for his mum and dad, well, Percy has letters from them to make up for it.

But over the holidays, all his roommates have gone except for Oliver, and even he has disappeared from the Gryffindor common room. Percy isn't sure where he's gotten off to, because he's not in the library either, and Percy isn't sure where else there is to go. He hasn't put much work into his search, though, since him and Oliver have barely spoken since the start of term.

Actually, Percy hasn't spoken much with any of his year mates, in Gryffindor or out. Mum keeps asking after his friends in her letters, and he's not sure what to write back. In the first few weeks, he'd found himself in a position of extra knowledge and connections, having two older brothers already at Hogwarts, but as everyone got used to the castle, that well had dried up. Now no one comes to him with questions or in hopes of reassurance about terrifying teachers or alarming architectural anomalies.

Some of Bill and Charlie's friends spend time with him, at least a little. Amelia Leicester, the other prefect in Bill's year, lets him tag along on rounds sometimes and will ruffle his hair, and Charlie's Quidditch friends will sit with him at meals on occasion, even if he get overwhelmed by how fast and loud they talk. 

Right now, though, both his brothers are busy. Bill is supposedly studying for his O.W.L.s, but when Percy had stuck his head into the classroom, it looked like his studying technique involved a lot more snogging than Percy was comfortable sticking around to watch. Charlie, on the other hand, was fully willing to admit that him and his friends were planning some sort of prank on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team that involves a lot of trips to Hogsmeade which, of course, Percy isn't allowed to go on, even if he wanted to.

He doesn't know what to do with himself. The dorm room is dead silent, the library filled with only older students, the common room loud with the wrong kinds of noises. There's nowhere that feels right, where it feels like he belongs, and Percy wonders if it's too late to call the Hogwarts Express back. He wants to be _home_ , with Mum's cooking and Ginny stealing his socks and the twins filling his inkwells with gravy, not here where everything is unfamiliar and off-putting.

It's when suspicious wet spot appears on his Potions essay that Percy decides to go out for a walk. He's not a little kid to be crying alone in his dormitory like a huge wimp. He just needs a change of pace, some fresh air.

It's bitingly cold out, making him hunch over into his layers of sweaters under his winter robes, a hand-me-down from Charlie that's long enough to remove the need for mittens. The wind slaps his face the second he steps out from the protection of the castle walls, turning his breathe misty and his cheeks numb.

The ground is hard under his feet with the cold, frost settling over the few plants, making the tree line of the Forbidden Forest more spidery and ominous than usual. He spends a few minutes by the Great Lake, but with it frozen over there's nothing to watch for, and the lack of the cover from the wind drives him off quickly.

Percy debates going back inside. Bill had secretly told him where the kitchens were, so he could go beg a hot cocoa off the house elves, which does seem like an appealing prospect to his cold fingers. But it's just not the same to drink hot cocoa alone in the drafty hallways instead of at the kitchen table at home, his legs swinging beneath the chair thats always been _his_.

The new wave of bitterness settling cold in his stomach sends him skirting the castle instead of taking the path back to the main doors. He has some vague idea about going as far along the path to Hogsmeade as he's allowed to go, see if he can catch a peak of Charlie and his group coming back.

It's on his way there that he sees a shadow above the Quidditch pitch. At first he thinks it's a bird, but it makes far too many pinpoint turns with no dives for any kind of bird Percy has seen around Hogwarts, and as he gets closer he can make out the shape of someone on a broom. He doesn't think even Charlie'd be mad enough to be practicing out by himself in this kind of cold, but then, he can't think of anyone it's more likely to be, so he decides to go check it out.

The figure is too small to be Charlie, he realizes as he gets closer, so small that he'd be surprised if it were anyone on any of the official teams, but before he can turn away, the figure waves at him and starts to head for the ground. Percy bites his lip — even though he'd been lonely, he doesn't really want to be around anyone he's not prepared for, either — but he's not rude enough to leave after being hailed like that. His mum would kill him if she found out, for one thing.

The rider touches down and Percy realizes it's his dorm mate, Oliver. He's flushed and grinning with only a pair of fluffy red earmuffs and a tightly knotted scarf to protect his head from the cold.

"Percy!" Oliver says, or rather shouts, face cracked in a smile so aggressive that Percy has to stop himself from taking a step back. "Perfect!" 

"Really?" Percy says, because he's used to hearing that combination of words, but never from someone within ten years of his own age.

"You can fly, right?" Oliver says and rolls on before Percy can even think of responding. "I need someone to throw Quaffles at me, can't exactly practice blocking them on my own, right? Vida Jones, from Hufflepuff, she was supposed to help me, but she's down with the flu or something, must be dying if she missed a perfect time to practice like this, you know? Usually it's so impossible to find time when it's still light out and the team's aren't practicing, makes it hard for first years like us, yeah? But it's wasted like this, all I can practice on my own is, what, basic flying drills? But I can do those all the time on my own, the point of practicing on the pitch is getting to use the hoops, so let's grab you a broom and the Quaffle and we can get started."

Percy blinks and realizes that while he's been lost in the storm of Oliver's talking, trying to find a point where he can jump in, Oliver has grabbed his elbow and towed him three quarters of the way to the broom shed before he can think to reclaim his arm.

"Wai— I don't really play Quidditch," Percy says. He'll fill out the numbers for his brothers at home, if they need someone to even it out to make it 3-on-3, but he's really only equal with the twins at this point through the virtue of being older, and that advantage is unlikely to last through their next growth spurt.

"You can chuck a ball, can't you?" Oliver slaps Percy on the back, grin never faltering. It's beginning to become a bit unnerving, to be honest. "That's all I need you to do, really, nothing fancy."

"But—" Percy tries, only it's too late and they're already at the shed, Oliver throwing open the door. "Wait, don't we need Madame Hooch's permission to use the balls?"

Oliver waves that off with a scoffing laugh. "Nah, mate, I got permission for that ages ago. What kind of broom d'you use at home?"

"Um—" Percy starts, not sure if he should be objecting to the assumption of his compliance or feeling ashamed of the quality of broom he's used to using. Luckily, Oliver keeps barreling on with barely a pause.

"Never mind, never mind, if you don't think you're a good player you probably don't have a preference, right? Charlie," his voice goes slightly pitchy on the name, "uses a Cleansweep Five, yeah? Gorgeous broom, great precision, the _turns_ he can pull on it — well, that's besides the point, isn't it? Anyway, some of the newer Shooting Stars shouldn't be too far off what you're used to, if you're a Cleansweep family, this one should do," and just like that, Percy finds himself holding a broom while Oliver skips off to wrestle a box off the shelf.

"Here we are, then," Oliver says, unclipping the Quaffle. He tosses it one handed over his shoulder to Percy, who almost drops the broom handle trying to catch it. In the box he can see the other balls, the Bludgers and Golden Snitch all looking far more active than the old set he's used to at home, which tend to hang limply from their restraints and need a bit of a thwack to get them moving once unclipped. Not at all like the regulation-level balls the school has, which pull at their harnesses. The Snitch is practically vibrating back and forth and the Bludgers are tugging so hard in the direction of the two boys that Percy is a little scared the fabric won't hold them in place. He's relieved when Oliver snaps the box closed, placing it with reverence back in its position. "Come on, there's a storm meant to hit soon."

Percy swallows and scurries after Oliver, shorter legs working to make up the distance.

"I'm training to be Keeper, obviously," Oliver says as soon as Percy gets back within hearing distance. "I mean, Tutchinson's here for a few more years, obviously, but I don't mind being reserve at first, and it's my best position. Though I'll also play Beater in a pinch, got to have versatility."

"Right," Percy says. "Do you—"

"I just need you to throw the Quaffle so I can practice blocking it," Oliver says. "Don't tell me which hoop you're aiming for, though obviously it's not like you can really pull off much misdirection without a team. Ready?" He tosses his leg over his broom with an ease Percy recognizes from Charlie and kicks off into the air, taking a lazy loop up to hover before the goals.

Percy frowns and tucks the Quaffle under his arm as he mounts his own broom. It's the same kind they'd been doing flying practice on, though he'd gotten excused fairly quickly with the other kids from wizarding families who were already used to flying. He thinks Oliver was one of the ones excused even sooner, but he's not sure. That was back when people were still interested in his secondhand stories, so he'd been concentrating on that, practically falling over himself to tell about the time Charlie'd almost hit a hanglider or how Bill had stayed on broomstick for three days straight to win a bet. He'd been so over-excited the first day that when he commanded the broom to come up, it had swung too fast and given him a black eye. He'd had to beg his older brothers not to tell their parents about it. He wouldn't be able to stand it if that story got back to Fred and George.

Now, with only Oliver watching, the broom behaves perfectly and he rises through the air with ease. Instead of looking impressed, however, Oliver's expresion has gone intensely still when Percy checks. He's guiding the broom with mostly his knees, face dead serious, hunched over like he's ready to spring in any given direction.

Percy is so taken aback by the sudden shift that his first throw is more of a toss directly to Oliver, but to his surprise he doesn't get a chewing out for it like he would. Oliver just snatches it out of the air and tosses it back, nodding his head for another.

By a few more throws, Percy can barely feel his fingers with the windchill and his throws are getting weaker and weaker. Oliver still seems happy enough catching them, but Percy can't help but think he's getting annoyed behind his serious expression. The silence is such a shift from Oliver's previous talkativeness, and Percy itches against it. 

"You really like Quidditch, then?" He winces after he says it, but Oliver's eyes light up right away.

"I _love_ Quidditch," he says, voice shaky and overheated with enthusiasm that Percy recognizes from Bill talking about puzzles and Charlie about magical creatures and the twins about, well, pretty much everything. "It's the best sport in the world, you know? Only sport, if you think about it, the only one that matters, anyway. I've been playing since I was a kid, in the Lomond Littles League, my team was the Noxious Nightshades, and me Ma played for Gryffindor back in her day, though she was a Chaser, not a Keeper like I am." 

"Oh," Percy says and tries to think of anything he can add that would be interesting enough to keep Oliver's attention. "You know, there weren't any regulations about the size and shape of the scoring hoops until 1883."

Oliver's smile grew even wider. "I know! It caused riots when they made that rule, apparently the Minister at the time even got death threats for it. But it's only fair, right? D'you know about the guy who invented the Golden Snitch?"

"Bowman Wright," Percy says with a nod and Oliver beams at him. "He, uh, he was a metalcharmer, invented it to replace the Snidget when they got protected. Everyone else was looking for a different bird to use, but he came up with a mechanical one instead, one that'd stay inside the pitch instead of needing repelling charms from the crowd."

"Yes, yes! Brilliant, that was!" Oliver crowed, twirling his broom in an excited loop. "You've read _Quidditch Through The Ages_ , then?"

"Of course," Percy says, puffing out his chest. He read pretty much any book that was inside the Burrow, especially ones he knew Bill and Charlie liked. 

"We should try out for the team together next year," Oliver says, eyes so lit up they could practically melt the chill off his face.

Percy chokes. "Um," he says. "I don't actually... I like watching Quidditch, and all, but not really playing it, and I don't think... I'm not really..."

Oliver's face visibly falls in disappointment and confusion. "But you know Quidditch stuff."

"I just like knowing stuff," Percy says uncomfortably. "It's just... nice to know about things."

Oliver stares at him as if he's staring speaking Mermish and Percy is just starting to contemplate whether he should just fly himself into a window to escape the awkwardness when something white flutters by the side of his vision.

"Oh," he says, turning his head. "It's snowing."

Oliver blinks and lifts a hand out, flakes disappearing onto his gloves. In just the few moments from when Percy had noticed the first one fall, they've picked up, until they're thick enough to pose a genuine threat to Percy's vision.

"We should go back inside," he yells out into the snow.

"But—"

"You're going to crash into one of the goalposts!" There's no answer, and Percy wracks his mind. "Article 37 of the Whisp Rule Addenda states that while flying in rain and windstorms is allowed, any flake or particle the size of a thumbnail or greater is cause for immediate grounding until conditions prove more visually favorable."

There's silence for a moment, and Percy is wondering if he'll have to fetch one of the professors to drag Oliver off his broom when he hears a bark of laughter.

"You totally made that up, didn't you?" Oliver says as he heads toward the ground, letting a relieved Percy follow in his wake.

"Maybe," Percy says with a shrug when he lands. "Maybe not. You'd have to check the book to be sure."

"You're funny," Oliver says offhandedly and Percy's whole world goes quiet for a moment because never, in all the things he's ever been accused of, never has he once been called funny before. "Merlin, it's cold as Ice Mice out here."

"You're only noticing that now?" Percy asks as they head to the broom shed to put away their equipment. Now that he's back on the ground, he's shaking so badly that he could probably pass as a relative of the Whomping Willow.

"I was focused," Oliver says. "I was thinking about Quidditch."

"You're kind of mental, aren't you?" Percy asks, just to check.

"A bit, yeah," Oliver says. "Why?"

Percy just shakes his head and picks up his pace. "C'mon," he says. "I know where the kitchen entrance is, I bet the house elves will give us some hot cocoa."

Hearing Oliver's footsteps behind him, Percy decides having stayed for the holidays wasn't so bad, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Since there were some other scenes I came up with that didn't fit into my holiday gift fic length rules, I might add to this at some point to get it to proper Percy/Oliver and not just Percy&Oliver.
> 
> The title comes from the paper that first described the Koch curve, otherwise known as the Koch Snowflake. It was a toss up between this one and _Snowman's Land_.


End file.
